To the saints and the sinners,the judges and the jury
My mother was 13 when she conceived me. That’s her story to tell. And while mine always comes from her, the one I remember from this time around begins when she gave me up for adoption and at 5 days old, I moved into my childhood home in a place full of Queens. Dear Lord, I DO, know the Queens. Richmond Hill,NY, once with strong Irish roots, fortunately for me, my time there was incredibly global as the neighborhood transitioned during the 1980s.
I loved the smells, sounds, flavors and customs from around the world. Always curious and forever welcomed by the mothers of my community, admittingly barreling my way in at times…..my natural inclination was to explore the new and exciting. Roti, Shiva, Incense, Arroz Con Gandules, Salsa y Merengue, Sabado Gigante, Coqui, Dancehall, Griot, The Asado on a summer day, Pinatas, Suspiro Dominicano, LL Cool J, TKA, Our Lady of Guadalupe, braciole and Sunday sauce, That’s Amore …. house parties, block parties, sprinklers, colors…..Diwali, Hot 97 Reggae Sunday nights on the stoop.. dancing…oh how I love to dance…it was like the internet before there was the internet.
At 10, I sat on the sidelines of intense philosophical conversations with very kind Rabbi’s in Rockaway Beach because my Italian father, at one time a Franciscan priest and passionate about Judeo Christian relationships, remembered always that Jesus was a Jew. I was simultaneously learning about Anne Frank in school and the horrors of the Holocaust. I don’t remember exactly what they talked about but know with certainty these experiences were downloaded into my being. Seeds were planted.
My Irish German mother, once a Sister of St. Joseph, decided she wanted me to go the same school she attended as a child. While I don’t remember everything, I do remember almost all of the people I spent K-8 with. We experienced significant life things together, aside from learning math, writing and history, we also watched the take off and blowing up of the Challenger in class all together at 9. Left to figure out that one on our own after we had been given a heroine to adore leading up to the tragedy.
A classmate died, teachers went through things, mothers got sick, divorce, abuse, substance misuse, unemployment, disabilities, you name it we had it. CONNECTED despite not always knowing exactly what was going on for each other. I don’t remember if we talked, processed or kept it all inside… but in this school we were taught to pray.
We also passed notes in class, played MASH, got in trouble for talking, enjoyed field day and had serious crushes.
I have come to learn that prayer produces similar effects as mantra, chanting, japa, singing or dancing, creating, meditating, breathing, yoga, and with our vast understanding of the vagus nerve, all of these methods work really well to lead us to the exact same place. The outcome dependent on where you are trying to go or reach.
We were incredibly kind and thoughtful children, because children are naturally so, striving to adhere to a belief system handed to us about love and social justice. We heard some tough stuff, on the news, all around us, in our communities, yet, despite being afraid for and thinking about Baby Jessica night and day, we learned to coexist peacefully in a small world together.
With an understanding of the long term effects of fear stored in our bodies, as well as, the seeds of consciousness planted via direct experiences, what we read, what we hear, how we are “educated” and media, accumulated over time, are either harmful or helpful to the mind, body and soul with the harmful resurfacing unfavorably when triggered under duress.
Through my years of vigorous unearthing, and uprooting, after trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I prayed for ALL the children growing through the last several years, as their adults tried to make sense of opposing information, triggered stored fear responses accumulated over their lifetime, working overtime to self regulate, while expected to work, build, play, smile, survive and thrive. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Our grown ups dealt with the things of their time, their generational trauma and did what they had been shown to do, also, handing down their emotional intelligence as best as they could with what they knew.
And so, how do we do it?
I hear about these classmates, now, and I learn about beautiful people doing great things. All of us at some point trying to sort through the mixed messaging we received and stored. I have listened to and sat with so many people of every generation, following similar themes in their stories, figuring out the kinks as they go, moving forward, sometimes in very creative and bold ways, other times quietly and discreetly, the outcome generally affected by whether or not they have tools or support.
I trust that there will always be those who adhere and strive to live by a code of kindness, goodness and love. I trust that because I see it, feel it, hear it, know it and believe it. Ahhhhh….Thank Goddess.
Innocence and the remembrance of our truest selves can always be found in the sacredness of childhood, the quiet moments at the end of a life, and the spaces in between when we are most aligned and free. Often inspiring the momentum required to forge new worlds. Hopefully by respecting the wisdom of the past, making improvements along the way, while taking accountability for mistakes made and giving credence to new information as it unfolds.
As I think about the zillion other things that made up my youth, some of which were downright awful, it is always the magic, joy, and desire for love that are the bigger takeaways.
So, how do WE evolve despite the world continually exhibiting so much cruelty and suffering?
I think it is as simple as knowing that LOVE is everything, a worthy portal to explore and a very sturdy bridge to cross. Realizing fully that until you have an experience with LOVE it is just an illusion. Understanding that once you know Heaven it will naturally become a preference. After all, I too, was a wide eyed, yawny, stretchy baby seeking security, safety and joy. And no matter what is happening, that is where I want to live, full of LOVE, forever knowing magic and wonder is REAL. I know, it is OUR birthright. With sincere gratitude for those who continue to show us what a wonderful world it actually IS, can grow to BE and doing their best to blaze a path for us to get there!
A few years ago, I discovered I was Irish, like super Irish. Can you imagine what ancestral healing looks like when you are trying to put those kind of pieces together? Sheesh….
It turns out the universe has got my back, with stars all along the way charting my course. I have held, felt and burned through so many stories. After my long term hospice career came to an end, I was told I must walk alone (knowing FULLY that I never was). Returning to truths I had already come to know and learning from others I had not yet experienced. I spent time getting to know first responders, military, teachers, young women with cancer, college students, high school students, homeschooled students, private school students, public school students, unschooled, the mothers, the fathers and young children. The vaccinated and unvaccinated. The vegans and the carnivores. The wealthy, middle class and the poor. The hippies and the hipsters and executive directors. The insured, the uninsured. Entrepreneurs, prosecutors, lawyers and doctors. The abusers and the abused. The snakes and the Prophets. The hacked and the hackers. The bullies and the brave. The bouncers and the bartenders. The drag queens and the djs. The remorseful and the proud. The forgiven and the unforgiving. The actors and the actresses. The list keeps going because it is such a colorful world. I returned to hospice this year for a bit because they asked me to. And while sitting with a large Irish clan saying goodbye to their eldest man, all together we listened to the stories, difficulties faced, graces received, finding meaning and purpose in how he chose to live his life, with all the joy and pain and sorrow. I felt a genuine appreciation for both the building up as well as the end of an era. Recalling all of the veterans, Holocaust survivors, Alzheimer’s disease and cancer ridden souls, I had sat with over a span of 15 years. I locked smiling eyes with his big sister, the only other woman in the room, we started giggling, and once again I could see myself….
remembering that no matter where we come from, whatever side of the street we hang out on, we are certainly ONE family desiring to experience the exact same thing…..Knowing there are solid and sustainable ways to get there.
Cheers to the angels and the crones the mediums and mystics. To the fairies and the witches, the medicinal magicians. The dancers, the planters, the poets and the painters. To the alchemists, breath workers, yogis and musicians. But especially to the mothers. The children are so very fortunate you have remembered…
Thank you, my son, for shining bright enough for me to see you, believe you, hear you, feel you, know you and love you.
When Love Calls 